


His Body, His Choice

by damigella



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Aliens, Disability, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-01
Updated: 2012-03-22
Packaged: 2017-10-31 23:32:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 20,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/349534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damigella/pseuds/damigella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mysterious aliens have eliminated the pain in House's thigh, in exchange for his promise to gestate their offspring. He and Wilson end up being stuck alone together for the pregnancy months, with unexpected consequences, good and bad. Bittersweet (I think too sweet and not bitter enough: YMMV).<br/>Written for the mpregbb Big Bang.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many heartfelt thanks to Dee Laundry deelaundry for creating a wonderful cover art for this. The fic itself has been improved beyond measure by menolly_au who read several versions, helped me say what I wanted without shouting and negotiated a fragile truce between me and the English language.  
> I am once more stunned by the generosity of the house_wilson community.  
> Finally, heartfelt thanks to phantisma for all their work in making the Big Bang happen.

Wilson was tired and would have gladly gone straight to bed after a glass of warm milk, but House had insisted that he must come by this evening. This was rare enough that he had agreed, despite the headache caused by the previous sleepless night, spent in the hospital in the futile attempt to comfort the parents of a dying toddler. Being an oncologist had many bad sides, but some were worse than others, he thought as he rang the doorbell.

House let him in and gestured him to the couch. The TV was switched off, and on the table two glasses flanked what looked like a bottle of really fancy whiskey, even for his friend's discerning taste.

"Are we celebrating something?" he asked, letting himself drop in what his body seemed to know as his place.

"I've been pain-free for three full days." House's eyes shone with happiness, and soon Wilson's gloomy mood was lifted, too. He now looked back in memory and noticed a number of details, which probably wouldn't have escaped him hadn't he been so preoccupied with the pediatric cancer ward.

"Mazel tov! This is really great news. How did it happen? A new painkiller?" Worry clouded his brow. "Oh God, House. Tell me you didn't do anything illegal. And that includes swallowing anything illegal."

"Don't worry, everything is legal. Especially because I didn't take anything at all. I have been cured. That is," he added, his enthusiasm somewhat diminished, "the pain is gone. My muscle is as missing as it was before, unfortunately."

House seemed sincere, and the sparkle in his eyes proved that there were more exciting news to come. Wilson had a sip of the whiskey that House had handed him and relaxed again. In fact, for the first time in longer than he cared to remember, he felt genuinely happy. It probably helped that they were looking forward to a completely free weekend, when neither would be on call.

"Great. So what did you do and how did you keep it a secret?"

"It's part of a deal with some extraterrestrials. They cured me and in exchange I'll gestate one of their offspring. Or at least I'll try."

He felt the headache returning, and also a vague dizziness. "So what really happened, House? Your story is so weird it isn't even funny."

"I agree. It has the distinctively minor merit of being true, however."

Now Wilson felt really, really tired. The stress of the last few days, the whiskey, and the nonsense seemed to be assaulting his brain.

"Okay, House. It's the truth. Now I definitely need to go home and get to sleep."

"You don't need to go home for that. My couch is quite comfortable."

House's face was swimming before his eyes. The whiskey must have been stronger than he expected. Maybe crashing here was actually a good idea?

"You might be right. I'm so tired."

"That's good, since I expect you to fall asleep in less than one minute."

House's soft laughter was the last sound he heard before his eyelids fell irresistibly down.


	2. Chapter 2

He woke up and stretched out satisfactorily: finally a full night of sleep. He yawned lazily, stretched again, and opened his eyes. Simultaneously he noticed that he was in a room he didn't know, with bars on the window, and recalled the strange dialog of the previous evening.

"Good morning, Snow-white. Luckily you didn't need a prince to kiss you, or you would have slept forever."

"House. Where am I? What is going on? Did you kidnap me?"

House smiled, mischievousness twinkling in the blue eyes. "I told you the truth yesterday. Now you're in a secure place to hear more details, talk to the guys I've made my deal with, and see whether you want to be a part of it."

"That's a lot to wake up to. May I go to the bathroom?"

When he came back, House was gone. From the window he could see only trees as far as his eyes could reach, and a quick search showed that a change of his clothes had been orderly collected in the closet and chest of drawers. The bathroom also contained some of his stuff. After a shower and a shave, he dressed in his favorite slacks and button down and stepped out of the room, his mind in turmoil.

He soon found House by following the smell of freshly cooked pancakes; breakfast was ready for two in a large living room, which also had bars at the windows.

"So why am I kept a prisoner?"

"Sit down, eat, and I'll try to explain. If you decide not to be in this with me, you'll be let free and they'll make sure you have no recollection of having been here, or having had this conversation at all."

"That's a comforting thought. So what is all this ET nonsense?"

"As I told you, it's just the truth. I've signed a deal, they've kept their half and I'm going to keep mine. Also because the pain-removing treatment is only temporary so far."

"House... how am I supposed to believe this?"

"You'd better, because I want you to participate in the agreement. Since I see you're done with breakfast, I'll let you chat with our hosts privately — they actually requested that."

With this, House stood up and limped out of the room, pointing out in passing a computer on a nearby desk. Wilson decided to give it a try, and when the desktop woke up found himself in a chat window, where only one line of text stood: "Good morning, Dr. Wilson. I'm one of the extraterrestrials your friend mentioned to you. Ask me any question."

"Why can't I meet you in person?"

"We look very different from you, and cannot breathe your atmosphere. In fact, our bodies need to be immersed in a saline solution at all times. All our interactions will be this way."

"Why do you want to... impregnate House?" The concept alone was so thoroughly disgusting it made him sick.

"We have a technical problem with our race's reproductive system. We're trying to solve it by finding a symbiont race, and yours seems promising."

"Why House? Why not a fertile female?"

"We chose your race because you're doing precisely what we want: you have a symbiont race taking care of your reproductive needs for you. But of course we want our symbionts to be the dominants, not the breeders."

When he finally got the meaning, Wilson was outraged. "Women are not a different race, they are just — just people!"

A computer chat couldn't carry voice tones, but Wilson felt as if the other one used an ironic tone in his reply. "Oh yes. I guess that leaves unexplained the different dress and grooming code, reduced income, blatant imbalance at every social level... you don't need to pretend with me, Dr. Wilson. No member of the breeder race will have access to our conversation."

"This is beyond ridiculous. You're just an idiot man sitting somewhere and typing on a keyboard." Wilson felt really angry now.

"I see you're not in a speaking mood. Why don't you read the contract your friend has signed, and then see what your part is supposed to be? There's a printed version in the top drawer."

With this, the chat window was closed. A quick look in the first desk drawer revealed a rather large sheaf of documents: Wilson sat down in the cozy armchair and started to go through them methodically.


	3. Chapter 3

"So, you read it all, now?"

Wilson opened his eyes, startled by the suddenness of the remark out of deep thoughts.

"I... how can I believe this at all?"

"I don't know. It's very easy for me, though. Nothing as convincing as a pain-free thigh."

"So, this species is supposed to have developed in a way that makes pregnancy painful?"

"Very painful indeed. It is not rare for the childbearing partner to die in the process, not from complications but from the pain. This is why they're so good at pain management and could heal me. Still, they haven't solved their own problem, so I committed to carry one of their offspring for a complete pregnancy, six months."

"House... did you read the whole contract?"

"No, of course not. I never do. Why? All I need to do is to stay hidden for a few months, go through an unpleasant but shortened pregnancy, and my thigh pain will be gone, never to bother me again. I wouldn't have involved you at all, except they insisted I would go crazy without a human companion, and added they wanted a doctor for security reasons. That's all I ask you to do."

Wilson nodded slowly, thoughts rushing through his mind. "I guess I'll end up doing it, whether I believe it or not. Can I speak to them in private before I commit?"

House's eyes became even happier, even though no smile appeared on his lips. "Sure. There's a terminal in your bedroom as well, and the door has a lock. I hope you'll agree - I'll be confined with one person for five of the months, so I have an interest in choosing someone not boring."

"Are we in a big hurry? I need to think about this quite a bit, and I can't think when I'm hungry."

"No hurry at all. Your next appointment to chat with them and give your answer is tomorrow morning."

"So what do we do for lunch? Do they cook for you?"

"I don't think so, but they can get me anything money can buy. I think they have some other humans with whom they made non-disclosure deals. Apparently gold isn't so expensive for them as it is for us, so they have a lot of money."

They sat down and ate a quick lunch, mostly composed of House's favorite deli food. They both avoided discussing the situation, and instead Wilson updated House on his last losses and House described how he had diagnosed his latest patient, unfortunately only to give him a six months life expectancy.

As he retrieved ice-cream from the freezer, Wilson asked in a casual tone "The contract itself doesn't give many technical details. How are they going to even... put this thing into you? You don't have a womb!"

House laughed. "You have no imagination, Wilson. A woman's womb is perfect for growing a little human. Which they're not interested in. I'll be implanted with a lab-grown version of whatever plays the role of an uterus in their biology, together with a genetically-engineered pseudo-placenta enabling my body to sustain the growing organism. The only thing we have in common with them is internal pressure and the basics of biochemistry. As a matter of fact, I'll have a fever all through the six months - their bodies are warmer than ours."

Wilson hesitated a bit before asking the next question. "How about the risks?"

House frowned; apparently the topic was not of his liking. "There are always risks. Apparently these morons are so ethical that they can only use sentient beings, because they have to be able to understand the risks and accept them freely. They could try with a cow, but they won't. Anyway, the main problem might be the pain. The fetus sends tendrils in the host body, and they latch to the equivalent of the spinal chord and start stimulating the pain sensors. First mildly, then more intensely as the fetus grows. From an evolutionary viewpoint it makes sense, since they were originally parasites that lived within host bodies and controlling the host's pain was a way to enforce appropriate behavior."

Wilson winced in disgust, then looked at House closely, noticing that he seemed not to be bothered at all.

"Do they know for a fact that the fetus will be able to interfere in the same way with the human body?"

"They don't know yet. That's why they selected an MD for the first attempt. They want someone who can describe their symptoms appropriately and possibly diagnose the precise cause of any problems that might occur."

He finally locked his eyes with House's, for the most important question.

"House... is this an elaborate prank of yours? I find it creepy. Really creepy. But the thought that it might be real, and that you would be willing to risk as much to live pain-free... that's even worse."

The blue eyes showed no sign of fun or mockery; instead, they were filled with an old, deep sadness.

"It's all true, Wilson. It's also my only chance. Do you know what it's like to wake up in pain every fucking morning? Or are you so stupid that you think I actually enjoy being addicted to Vicodin?"

He felt his cheeks turn red. "Of course not."

An afternoon of reflection didn't bring him any clarity except for the knowledge that he desperately wished this was a prank. During dinner he didn't talk much; he listened superficially to House, chatting about his plans to start exercising, and carefully noticed how much younger his friend looked now that the pain-induced wrinkles were fading a bit.


	4. Chapter 4

"Wilson! Are you mad?"

House hadn't bothered knocking, just banged the door open and was now shouting, painfully aware that his face was an interesting shade of purple. His stomach informed him that he was hungry, and his brain labeled the fact as irrelevant.

"Why? I finally accepted you were saying the truth, and decided to support you, as you had asked me to do."

He sat down on Wilson's bed and hung his head in defeat, trying to replay recent events in his mind and find out how he could have gone so completely wrong.

"Not this way, Wilson, not this way. Tell me now, how did you talk them into it?"

Wilson pretended not to notice House's emotion, and answered in a matter-of-fact tone.

"It was very easy, really. I'm much healthier than you, younger, never had any addiction, and am very familiar with pain issues nevertheless. I was basically the perfect candidate."

"That's not what surprises me. How did you get them to decide to put the fetus in you and still give me the corresponding benefits? They're such ethics freaks I would have thought it would be impossible. They flat-out refused to answer my questions about it."

Wilson's answering smile showed the guy could give lessons to a poker player and the Mona Lisa at the same time.

"If they did, then I guess so should I. Not that I have anything interesting to say anyway, mind you."

House turned to his friend, who was still in bed, the blanket coming to his midriff, his torso propped up on two pillows, and held both his shoulders firmly.

"Please don't, Wilson. How would I feel if you were to die? Or have serious health issues or even just (just, Christ) unbearable pain for six months?"

Wilson didn't try to free himself or argue, nor did he drop his gaze from its current direction, aimed straight at House's face. He closed his eyes briefly, breathed, and answered in a soft, level voice.

"House, it's the least I can do. You deserve a chance, and I just hope it works. Plus... I've so often wished that I would be able to take some pain off your life and I'm delighted that it might finally happen."

As the words sank in, slow like molasses, House felt his unease grow.

"This is sick, and you know it. Pain cannot be shared."

"You'll be surprised. While we wait, should I make some pancakes?"

"No, don't bother. I don't think I can eat. Hell, I feel like I'm not going to eat ever again. Are you really sure? Have you thought this through?"

Fear cursed through House's brain. What if Wilson got scared when faced with the real experience? He still seemed wondering whether this all was just House's imagination. What if the pain was eventually too much for him to bear? What if something went wrong and he (correctly) viewed it all as House's fault?

Wilson's voice was still calm and soothing, he probably was employing the same tone that made cancer patients thank him even when he delivered death sentences.

"House, I'll be fine. I just considered the situation carefully and took the most logical decision. If your whole purpose in collaborating was a pain-free life, it may as well start now instead of in six months."

Wilson's hands rested on House's, and the gesture felt absurdly intimate - probably because they scarcely touched each other normally. On an impulse, House squeezed them, marveling at how delicate, almost feminine the skin on Wilson's strong, skillful fingers was. Wilson smiled openly now, then spoke, starting with the same sentence he had just used.

"I'll be fine. Now let me get to the bathroom and I'll prepare a celebratory breakfast. You may have to end up cooking for me every day, you know? I'm so looking forward to that."


	5. Chapter 5

Something unimaginable was happening. Right now. Something that should have happened to him, and instead was being done to his best friend. House no longer felt like a doctor, nor indeed like a grown man; he was a scared child alone, looking for whatever comfort he could find. He finally closed his eyes and started repeating long-forgotten, nonsensical yet soothing words: "Our father, who are in Heaven..."

"How are you?"

"Great, just a little bit drowsy. I'll be good to go in the late afternoon, as you know."

House looked anxiously at Wilson's face, trying to detect any symptom of problems, but of course there was none. He had been told clearly that no pain would be felt for the first month and then the beginning of it would be very mild. Unfortunately, the following months were uncharted in humans and Wilson was going to play the role of a (collaborating) lab animal.

"How... how does it feel?"

The pale face smiled, including the eyebrows.

"Nothing special, really. I'd suggest you feel my belly but one can't catch any movement yet."

House smiled back but inwardly frowned, wondering which hormones exactly were being pumped in Wilson's body and whether this mood was a side effect. And yet, as long as it was supposed to be his own body, he had hardly given the matter a thought, figuring anything would be better than the thigh pain.

"What are you thinking about? Are you still mad at me for cheating you out of your pregnancy?"

"I was thinking about how to justify our disappearance. I had planned to say I had another relapse: I'll take voluntary leave and check into a rehab facility abroad, and you'll choose to take leave as well and accompany me so I don't feel too lonely."

Wilson laughed.

"Great idea, and so close to what you really wanted me to do! But now I've outwitted you and you're going to play the caretaker - feel free to grumble if I take too many pills, I won't ever listen."

House sighed. In a sense the next few months were going to be very pleasant for him, actually, like a long needed vacation. The money loss was not a problem - he would of course repay Wilson for the lost income, but either of them could easily afford a few months off work. In fact, it might have been a good idea to actually take them, since Wilson probably could use a time away from the dying patients. Except what he was going to face now was probably going to be much worse.

House forced himself to focus on the here and now. Maybe the human body was different enough that the alien fetus growing inside Wilson wouldn't be able to give him pain.

The same hope resurfaced later as Wilson snored lightly, his head reclined on House's shoulder, while one of the aliens' human collaborators drove them both back to Princeton later that evening.


	6. Chapter 6

"So you're going to," she read on the form before her through her reading glasses, "El Paraiso Convalescent Home and Resort in Yucatan. Are you really going to reduce alcohol and stop Vicodin consumption, House, or is it just an excuse for a rum and hooker filled extended vacation?"

"That should be irrelevant, Cuddy. I just need a break and I'm getting it. Unpaid, so no need to worry about the hospital's finances."

"I hope you're serious. And now explain again why Wilson is coming along."

"You've seen the psychiatrist's report. Major clinical depression, due to work issues. Apparently giving death sentences every day and marrying one bitch after the other isn't conductive to happiness."

"And vacationing with you is? I'm afraid he'll be there only as a cash dispenser."

"Would that be so bad?" House chuckled, but then his face turned serious and he lowered his voice, although they were alone in her office.

"Cuddy, have you seen him recently? He's sick, you know. The depression is starting to have a physical side."

"You mean..."

"You must have noticed. The weight gain, the nervousness, occasional fainting and frequent nausea. And even someone without an MD after their name can notice he hasn't slept enough in a long while. This is more for him than for me."

Cuddy thought seriously for a while.

"House, you sound strangely sincere. And I've had enough people asking me 'What's wrong with Wilson?' recently. So I'll believe you, and sign this leave for both. But make sure you both come back at the allotted time, and I want to see you Vicodin-free."

House nodded. "You can count on that." For once, he wasn't even lying.

They flew to Mexico, checked into El Paraiso, and someone left enough money to the very discreet administration to make sure they would officially be present there for six months. Then they received forged documents and a rented car, and headed back towards the US border.

"House, I think we could be driving more than five hours per day."

He stretched a bit more on the lounge chair and took another sip from his cocktail (mostly fruit juice with barely a hint of rum, as it had been selected by Wilson). "Nonsense. Think of your condition, you must take care of yourself."

"You just like to spend long afternoons ogling women by the poolside."

House laughed and adjusted his sunglasses. "I'm an equal opportunity ogler, Wilson, but my main reason for liking pools is that swimming helps me build up my thigh muscles again, and is the best way for you to protect your joints from the weight gain. And I keep my eyes open for babes so that you don't get a fourth wife before we make it to the border."

Two women in their mid-twenties walked by: they extended an appreciative look at House's slender body, then when they came nearer they started whispering to each other. As they went away again, the cutest turning around for a last look, Wilson sipped his own fruit cocktail and sighed.

"There's no need for you to worry. I don't speak Spanish, but those two were clearly laughing at my belly and checking you out."

House laughed some more, and decided not to tell Wilson that one of the girls had said he looked dangerous but sexy, and the other suggested he must have been bit by a shark in his leg.

"Mind the break in your panty-peeler career? Don't worry, your return to it will be so much sweeter."

"Hope so. Except I'll first have a vasectomy, I don't want to make anyone feel as nauseous as I've been in the last four weeks."

"Is it better now? I hope I don't have to clean up your vomit when we're in Texas."

This time it was Wilson who laughed.

"There will be a cleaning service. The only thing you have to do is keep me company, check my health, and drive me to the big name hospital if an emergency arises."

"What will the cleaning staff say about your growing belly? Will you crossdress? You'd be cute in a skirt, you know."

"As if you didn't know everything has been arranged so they never need see me."

House nodded: he had seen the plan, which included a kind of miniature hospital, with one operating theater and one ICU bed. And an isolated area for the aliens, to which they had no access. He fervently hoped no emergency trip would be necessary.

Their last night before crossing the border and reaching their destination they ended up sharing a room, due to a landslide in a nearby town that had provoked no victims but a high number of refugees and filled up all hotels.

"Sharing a bed feels weird, doesn't it?"

House shrugged his shoulders.

"It's big enough. And from tomorrow we'll be having separate rooms. I just wish you weren't such a blasted furnace, but it can't be helped."

Wilson yawned. "Sorry about that, but as you know it can't be avoided. I'll try to sleep as far from you as possible." He yawned again. "I'm so tired, all the time. Feel free to stay up as long as you want, but I'm closing my eyes right now."

They didn't argue with the hotel about the accommodation: of course the families sleeping in eight to a room had it much worse, and the landslide's was nobody's fault. House read medical journals for more than an hour, having decided not to take advantage of the rich offer of pay-per-view porn for reasons he would have found hard to describe, but involved somehow the snoring man in the left half of the bed.

Once he closed the journal, folded away his reading glasses and switched off the light, he found it hard to fall asleep; he was surprised by how intensely aware he was of the body lying a few inches from his, and try as he might he couldn't believe this was due only to the fever.


	7. Chapter 7

"Don't tell me you're taking another one. Is it really four hours already?"

Wilson sighed. It was only three hours and forty minutes, but the pain had been growing for a while and... damn, he couldn't stand it any more. Waking up in pain every morning, then getting better as the acetaminophen worked, then again worse and worse until it got better again, and so on. And a small amount of pain that survived no matter what, round the clock.

He wondered whether House had experienced that in the too many years between the infarction and the current, miraculous reprieve, and realized he felt guilty about the times when he had treated him as an addict, disregarding his pain management issues.

"Almost four. But you're right, I should wait."

House looked at him with one arched highbrow.

"Wilson? Maybe you want to reconsider. It doesn't really make sense for you to do this, you know. And I've read the small print carefully now. The pain is supposed to get steadily worse until it reaches unbearable levels in the last month or so. The hope that our nervous system would be immune is clearly bogus."

"Nonsense. I said I'll do it, and I will. I've had my patients puke their stomachs out with chemotherapy and burn what was left with radiotherapy, and now I'm going to be squeamish about a few short months of non-life-threatening pain myself?"

\-------

"You're in pain."

It wasn't a question, even if Wilson decided to pretend otherwise.

"Yes. It's been growing steadily for the last two weeks, but this is the first time it's hard for me to walk."

House snorted. "You had promised to let me know, so that we could discuss your best options together."

"It's no big deal, really, I can still keep it under control with good old ibuprofen. I'll just have to keep some pills near the bed. Nothing has changed."

House looked at him as if he was ready to challenge the last statement, but when he opened his mouth as if to speak he only closed it again.

\------

"House? Are you awake?"

A loud yawn resounded in the darkness, then the light was switched on to reveal very rumpled face, hair, t-shirt and boxers. They kept it very warm so that Wilson's body wouldn't have to use so much energy to keep the higher temperature, and House had given up on using even a very light blanket.

"Of course I'm awake. It's barely..." here he glanced at his watch, "barely two am. The night is still young."

"I'm so sorry. I... I can't sleep." Wilson felt confused. Was his discomfort really reason enough to be such a bother?

House wiped his eyes again, then focused on Wilson's face with an intensity that reminded him of his diagnostics moments.

"The ibuprofen has stopped working, right?" House looked concerned, and Wilson knew why. Still almost four months to go.

He nodded. "Maybe it's just a passing problem. I... I have been awake for the last two hours. As you know I can't take any opiates, they're toxic for the alien fetus."

"How about acetaminophen? You can at least have that half of a Vicodin."

"I've tried last week to raise the dosage, and you've seen the effects. Doesn't agree with me."

House looked really concerned now.

"So the liver damage was due to you fumbling with painkillers? How much had you taken?"

Wilson knew it had been wrong not to tell immediately. But this way House had gotten one extra worry-free week.

"Not too much, I was barely beyond the limits of OTC strength. I usually have a high tolerance, but apparently it has been much lowered by my... condition."

"How about alternative approaches? Have you tried the Jacuzzi?"

Wilson pointed to his damp hair.

"I've spent at least one hour in there every night in the last week, but this time two hours weren't enough and I'm sure my ass looks like a prune."

"How about massage?"

"Don't be ridiculous, House. We're in the middle of nowhere, and see no one except the guy who brings supplies and cleans the house twice a week. How are you going to find a masseur? And explain to him why a man has a pregnancy belly?"

Wilson felt his cheeks redden as House smiled and paraded for examination his own outstretched, slender pianist fingers. "You... you would do it? Do you even know how?"

His answer was a loud chuckle.

"I never bothered to attend a course, but my thigh has taught me a thing or two. Go back to bed, I'll join you soon."

When he arrived Wilson had already changed sides four times uselessly trying to find relief. House spread near him a large bath towel, and piled several pillows on it.

"Roll over that, and be careful to rest your head and shoulders on the pillows so that there's room for your belly. Where does it mostly hurt?"

"In the small of my back, in and around the lower lumbar and sacral vertebrae." Wilson managed to get in position and found it surprisingly comfortable.

"Now take off your boxers."

Wilson stared, his brain fighting to make sense of what he had just heard. "What?"

House laughed. "Don't worry, I won't assault your innocence. But massage means skin contact. I'm not trying to cop a feel."

Grudgingly, Wilson obeyed. Naked from the waist down, his bottom exposed, he felt extremely vulnerable, even if he knew it was the only sensible thing to do - and that House was a good friend and a doctor, there was no reason at all to feel embarrassed. And yet he did, and he spoke the next words mostly to distract himself.

"Now what?"

"Close your eyes and let me bring you into paradise, as Bandy used to say. Do you have a nut allergy? If not I'm going to use warm almond oil."

Wilson sighed and muttered "Fine."

Soon warm, expert hands were kneading his lower back, bringing him both much-needed relief and a serious boner, probably fueled by the combination of long-missing physical contact and the 'pregnancy'-induced hormonal imbalance. He let his thoughts wander while enjoying the sensation.

"How is it going?"

House's voice startled him, and he wondered whether he'd been dozing.

"Much better, actually. I didn't know physical therapy could be so effective."

"Especially when coupled with painkillers. Now relax, I think you need at least another fifteen minutes."

When House stepped away from him the pain that had been a raging thunder was barely a dulled accompanying low note, almost hidden behind the sexual excitement. For the first time since the implant he felt horny, and as soon as House was gone he slid down his hand to grab his erect cock. It took him so little time and effort to achieve orgasm that the whole experience was eerily reminiscent of the far away nights in high-school, and he smiled at the recollection.

The smile turned into a frown when he recalled that whenever his body gave in to the desired explosion of pleasure back then, the images in front of his eyes (though many and varied) had never included wrinkle-contoured blue eyes and a greying scruff. He thought he would stay long awake thinking about what this might possibly imply, but instead he soon succumbed to the flood of endorphins, and woke up the next morning feeling much refreshed, although unfortunately still in pain.


	8. Chapter 8

House limped as softly as he could until he stood by the door to Wilson's bedroom, and listened carefully. The massage didn't work anymore. At first it had been great and even at Thanksgiving they had managed to celebrate a bit, with Wilson calling his parents in a very normal voice. 

Later the frequency of the massage sessions had escalated from twice a week to every evening, and now for three nights in a row an extra two am session had been required. The length had also increased to one hour, and still Wilson seemed to find less and less relief. Unfortunately this all fit too well with what was to be expected.

The sound coming from the slightly ajar door confirmed his suspicions: not the regular, calm breathing pattern he had learned to appreciate, but the tossing and turning of a man who found no relief. Something all too common in his own past for him to take it lightly. There weren't too many weeks left, but would Wilson survive them? And with what permanent physical and emotional damage? House limped back to his own bedroom. He had a heavy decision to take. 

He lay down and absent-mindedly started massaging his thigh, as he used to do, eager for the relief provided, however minor. Now it was just a habit he was slowly losing; he had even started waking up normally, without wondering first why he wasn't in pain. Living pain-free was so incredibly pleasant that even his remaining disability, the permanent lack of so many sports that once had been a big part of his life, seemed irrelevant in comparison.

However, the pain could be back. Would be back, if the pregnancy was interrupted except for immediate danger of life. This was something he had agreed upon easily, since pain with a time limit, however intense, was way better than a lifetime of pain (and of drugs that would eventually kill him). 

But now the intense pain was not his, but Wilson's, and this changed everything. Wilson. His eyes closed, he remembered the special 'I know what's best' face Wilson had had when he declared he was going to take upon himself House's pain for a while. It was a generous thought, and of course one based on the fact that Wilson had absolutely no clue how bad chronic pain could be.

Now he knew, and he probably wished he hadn't taken such a decision. He tried to imagine how embarrassing it must be for Wilson, usually so shy about anything personal, to lie there and allow House's hands to give him relief, naked not just in the physical sense but also exposed as a suffering human being.

Then there was the sex thing. House had noticed that part of the relief he gave Wilson was of sexual nature, no doubt a mere hormonal consequence of the special condition he was in. Wilson had always been very careful to keep their friendship far from any contact - whenever they brushed shoulders he was always the first to step away.

Which was great, because it meant House never had to think of Wilson as a physical being at all. He was just his friend, maybe his best friend if such a label could be applied for people beyond middle school. The uncertainty on how much House had perceived about his reactions to the massage must upset him a lot.

As often happened when thinking of Wilson, his mind went back to the terrible weeks of the Tritter investigation. Wilson had made mistakes, of course, but he had been consistently generous if sometimes misguided. Anyone else would have stopped talking to him after that, but Wilson had just showed up the next day at his usual time and offered to go to lunch together. No long discussions, no need to process anything. He was just there.

And when he needed someone to help him at the end of his marriage, it had been House's door he had knocked on, which was probably even more meaningful. A friend like Wilson was a rarity. He thought back of the week in Mexico. A rarity indeed. A friend like that came probably once in the lifetime of a difficult man like himself. 

Suddenly the decision he had to take seemed not hard at all.

\-----

"I want you to interrupt the experiment. Dr. Wilson is in too much pain. You have learned a lot, now it's enough."

"Dr. House, we had a very clear agreement. The fact that someone is substituting for you in the actual work doesn't change the terms of the agreement. Do you still want the interruption?"

House stared at the screen and gulped down. He looked briefly at the closed and locked door of his bedroom. Wilson was finally sleeping, but if he woke up he shouldn't be a witness of his own struggles.

"Yes. I'm willing to take back my physical pain, and to face the risk that the off/on factor might actually increase its severity."

He had thought this answer would require a comment, or at least a short delay in answering but of course it didn't. The aliens had carefully planned for every possible circumstance.

"Good. The final decision, of course, stays with Dr. Wilson, since his body is concerned. Make sure he's of sound mind when he talks to us next time, and we'll tell him."

House sighed. He had done it; Wilson's pain would soon be over, and he felt relieved and hopeful. "I'll give him a spinal block."

\------

"House, we need to talk. Before you remove the block, before the pain comes back. They contacted me about your request. Is it... is it true? You want your pain back?"

Wilson's eyes were red, but his skin was pale despite the fever. His hair was slick with sweat, and his hands were fidgeting in a restless way, possibly to make up for the complete immobility of the lower part of his body.

"Yes. You must stop this experiment, Wilson. It's too painful and too dangerous."

"Even if you risk going back to Vicodin or Methadone?"

"Even if I end up on H. You're risking your life."

Surprisingly, Wilson smiled. Barely so, and in a bashful way, his eyes sinking and his hand trying to find support in the hair on his nape. Then he lifted his eyes to look straight into House's again.

"I... thank you so much, House. It's great to hear that you, you care so much for me. But I'm not stopping anything." 

House drew a deep breath. Of course Wilson would say that. Stupid, caring Wilson, worshipping anyone in need.

"No. I couldn't live with myself if you got killed or maimed to save me from some perfectly manageable pain."

Wilson's smile was much more decided now, and House realized that he had not seen it in a very long time. The spinal block was working in a way nothing else had. Too bad that it couldn't be employed for extended periods of time, since the drugs in it would have harmed the growing alien.

"I talked to them. They said I could stop now and they'll take sometime to analyze all my data. In fact they had lied to you: the treatment they gave you will anyway keep you permanently pain-free, they threatened otherwise so that you would take the business seriously and hold your part of the deal."

"So why don't you just get the damn thing removed?" House didn't understand. Had Wilson gone crazy? Was such nonsense a weird side effect of the spinal block or of the 'pregnancy'?

"I asked them questions, House. What's growing in my belly is not just an experiment, it's or rather he is the son of a committed trio that hasn't been able to complete their triad of children because the childbearing partner got so sick during the second pregnancy that they currently have to keep him in a coma while he recovers from his injuries. It's unclear now whether he will ever fully recover again.

"I'm these people's last hope; if I give up, they'll never make it. I... I'm not sure I understand much about the issues with the three-marriage, the lifelong fidelity, and the need to produce three offspring, but I've talked to the two other members of the trio. They... they view me as a miracle worker."

House got really angry. "So these galactic morons are putting you under pressure, eh? How do you know this is even true? How do you know that it's not all made up?"

Wilson's smile reached the point were his face seemed to emit light from within. House felt some intense emotion stir deep inside him, something which he should eventually analyze but not right now.

"I cannot be sure, and yet I am. Because I spoke to the child-bearer. They woke him up especially to talk to me."

"Great. The idiot has almost killed himself to reproduce, and now wants you to do the same? You can't listen to him!"

"You're mistaken, House. The child-bearer begged me to terminate. He said it would only get worse, and he wasn't sure he would have carried to term the second child had he known what was going to happen."

"So why haven't you taken this miraculously sane advice?"

"Because we kept talking. We shared details about how the pain felt. He told me I will soon know the thing moving inside me is a sentient being. They're not human: a lot of their intellectual and emotional power develops during fetal life, House. Right now it has the brain level of a human child around eight or ten months, soon it will be more like a young toddler."

House felt a shiver going down his back. This was worse than Stockholm syndrome. Was Wilson starting to have parental feelings for the thing that was killing him from within? He tried to open his mouth, but Wilson was faster.

"We talked about how the two existing sons wait anxiously for the third, about how good it is to see them growing up, reaching maturity. In fact, the firstborn is one of those that collaborate to the technical setting up of the process - in exchange for it being his sibling that was implanted. We have to find a way, House. I'm a good doctor, you're a genius. Let's solve this problem, give these people a way out."

Wilson hadn't stopped smiling, and yet he was now crying. House realized suddenly that he was crying for the mysterious aliens, so desperate about having children. He tentatively stretched out his right hand, until his fingertips made contact with Wilson's wet cheeks. With delicate movements he started drying out the tears.

"You want to do this, Wilson?"

"I want to carry to term. As it says so clearly in those lovely pamphlets we both financially support, my body, my choice. Help me if you can." Wilson's eyes seemed to have grown old. "Please, House, help me."

House nodded. He couldn't speak now. And yet he knew he must remove the spinal block within the next ten minutes, throwing Wilson in mind-numbing pain again. On a whim he wrapped his arms around Wilson's back and pushed the feverish face to lie against his collarbone.


	9. Chapter 9

Wilson knew that he was doing the right thing. He was however worried that he might die himself in the attempt, which would be not only sad but completely useless. There was a rather sharp divide between term and non-term in the alien he was hosting, because of late development of one organ that was not needed until delivery but essential after; like humans would be, if they hadn't found a way to use steroids to accelerate the production of surfactants in fetal lungs.

And yet recently pain was overtaking him, and if it kept growing it would kill him before delivery was possible. House had tried all kinds of drugs, alone or in combination, only to find out they damaged him, or the alien, or had too little effect (often all three). Massage therapy was also next to useless now, and the sexual excitement was gone as well. 

Wilson wondered whether this could be a point. And if his memories from his college years (before his father's disgusted threats "changed" him from bi to straight) were anything to go by, he had a very clear picture of what kind of physical stimulation might give him so much pleasure as to flood his system with enough endorphins to drown the pain.

But would House be willing at all? And how upset would he be? He had never dared speak of this openly, but he strongly suspected House had been aware of what the effect of his massages was; sometimes his hands had even hovered close to the forbidden zone before retreating. It couldn't be House crossing this bridge, even if he would be willing to. It had to be Wilson's proposal. 

What would be the best way? There was of course a lot he could say, but most of it would just upset House even more than his crazy request. He thought and thought, and finally decided the safest way was to keep a matter-of-fact tone, one which addressed only the physical activity involved and denied or minimized any emotional component.

He looked at his watch. Five am. House would show up in ninety minutes for morning massage and painkillers. He had time to look for the right words. He smiled in the dark, thinking that in the many years in which this idea had lived on the brink of his consciousness he would never have imagined such an irresistible excuse.

\-----

"Good morning, Wilson. Nine weeks to go today. The alien's vitals are perfect."

There was a grimace of pain on House's face as he pointedly avoided discussing Wilson's own condition. Not that there was much to say about it, unfortunately. He was dying, and that was it. Dying of pain, too damn fast.

"House, sit down near me on the bed. I was thinking a lot last night, and I think I'm not going to survive to term if I go on like this."

House's sleep-deprived eyes lit up with hope. "So you've decided to terminate? Finally! The sooner the better, as far as I'm concerned. And if my pain comes back, fuck it. I never should have involved you in this madness."

Wilson tried to keep himself composed. This was going to be hard. "This is not what I meant, House. I want you to help me survive without terminating."

"Wilson, I've been thinking of nothing else, using all the medical knowledge I have together with what I learned from the aliens and by experimenting on you. I can do no more."

"But you might once I tell you something you don't know yet." Wilson decided to talk very fast, so that he couldn't be tempted to stop or change topic. "At the beginning, when massage worked, I was enjoying it in a sexual way. I always masturbated directly after each session, and it felt better after that, not just after the massage."

House's face was beet red. "I... I had kind of suspected."

"Lately I don't even get hard. I need a stronger stimulus to provoke the same reaction. Porn isn't enough, it must be something physical."

Wilson braced himself and jumped over the last hurdle. 

"I want you to have sex with me. I cannot get an erection, but I expect you can, and you can use that to make me come as well."

He couldn't find the courage to look in his friend's eyes immediately, not after what he had just said. So he hid his face in a tissue and blew his nose.

"You want me to... to fuck you?"

House's eyes were wide open now, his eyebrows higher than Wilson would have thought possible. And yet he didn't say no, or look disgusted. He was just checking he had understood, not judging Wilson's request. 

"I know this must sound weird. I wouldn't have asked you if it weren't my last hope, medically."

"An alien fetus's last hope." There was a tonelessness in House's voice that sounded much more bitter than a curse or shout would have.

"Our last hope. I've suffered so much to make this happen, and I don't want to give up now that I'm so close. Also, this might buy you enough time to come up with something else. I'm so sorry, House. Try to view it as one more entry in the long list of crazy medical procedures you have performed to save your patients in the past."

"I was never that involved."

Wilson smiled. "You risked your license several times. And I'm not asking for an organ transplant, just a brief loan."

For the first time that day House's lip corners curled a bit up. "I'll think about it. If neither of us changes our mind, we could try."

\------

It had actually been much easier and more natural than Wilson had feared. House either knew how to do this, or had gained enough information via porn sites: he had had no trouble achieving and maintaining an erection, a very nontrivial issue for a straight man. 

In fact, he had been a surprisingly gentle, selfless lover. Wilson was quite a bit out of practice from the physical viewpoint, but apparently it was like riding a bicycle, the body had a memory of his own. House had helped him to a very comfortable position on his side and prepared him carefully, with more than sufficient lubrication. 

The combined effect of the erection moving inside him and the fingers dancing on his cock, the licking and nibbling of the most sensitive spots of his neck and shoulders, and the knowledge all the time that this was House entering him, taking him, made him forget not only the small pain due to the stretching of his rectum but any other pain he had.

At first House had been slow and delicate, giving his body ample time to adjust to the new sensation, but at some point he seemed to lose control, and started pounding harder, aiming directly at his prostate, while the fingers of his right hand did something to his balls and perineum he wished any of his wives had been capable of. He lost himself in the sensation and soon reached the point of no return.

As he came down from the high, he noticed that House was sliding out, as delicately as he could, while being still completely engorged. Without even thinking, Wilson roared "Come now, goddammit!" in such a forceful way that House complied extremely fast, after which they both had relaxed, and he had spent the next ten minutes floating in pain-free endorphin bliss.

He turned towards House, lying spent next to him in bed. "It worked. I'm almost pain-free, and anyway much better than before. Who knew that you had a magic wand in your boxers?"

He was trying to come up with some lewd joke on Hermes's health-bringing caduceus when he looked better and realized House was crying. And not just a tear or two, a silent flood which he didn't even try to hide or contain. 

"House! What happened? Are you in pain again?"


	10. Chapter 10

So that was it. He had given Wilson the necessary pain relief. That had not been difficult; Wilson was in so much pain there was absolutely nothing he wouldn't have done to grant him a reprieve.

No, what had killed him inside was the final request that he keep going until his own orgasm. A sad, lonely orgasm, without kisses or caresses or tender words, a physiological reaction as in a medical experiment. He had gotten more emotional reward from many a paid encounter.

He had done it, because he was powerless to refuse any request of Wilson's now, but it had broken him, making it impossible to ignore the abyss that separated what he had from what he wanted. Lying down, his eyes closed, his heart madly beating inside his chest, he desperately wished he could go back in time and refuse the aliens' offer.

He listened to Wilson's calm, regular breathing pattern, and tried once again to convince himself that what he felt wasn't really love, just some weird mixture of pity, gratitude, lack of alternatives and indeed of any other human contact, together with fifteen years of friendship. 

Useless, of course: no way he could lie to himself now. The handful of minutes when he had allowed himself to pretend that he and Wilson were actually making love had been the happiest in his life, at least since the infarction and its aftermath had destroyed his love for Stacy.

He felt Wilson move, turn around to face him, saying something that definitely wasn't a love declaration whatever else it was, his easy smile expressing the pleasure that comes when a long pain is gone or very diminished. He may have to do this again. And again, until delivery, and then he would have the rest of his life to regret the loss. To wish for what he could never have, what would belong soon to yet another meaningless Mrs. Wilson. 

The months of uninterrupted confinement with Wilson, the mixture of fun and laughter with the craziest moral compass he had ever met had unleashed intense feelings inside him. If he didn't mistrust the word and the concept, he would have to admit he was in love with Wilson. A hopeless love, which would have to remain unacknowledged to save at least their friendship. And would make their future sexual encounters the most terrible torture House could think of.

He started crying and didn't try to stop even when he noticed that Wilson was facing him and noticing the tears.

"House! What happened? Are you in pain again?"

What should he answer? Yes and no seemed equally wrong. He kept quiet, unable to stop crying or avert his eyes, and an increasingly upset Wilson spoke on.

"I'm so sorry. Forget this ever happened, will you? I will never ask again. I'm sorry I asked, even. I... I was selfish, didn't realize that for a straight man like you this would be so disgusting. I..."

He couldn't resist, couldn't lie, couldn't hide. He held Wilson as close as the bulging belly between them would let him and used his free hand to push their faces together. His lips found other lips, pressed them open, his tongue forced its way in the unnatural warmth of Wilson's mouth. They kissed, and kissed, until he gasped for air. The next sentences were blurted out almost simultaneously, crossing in the few inches between them and making them become a very wide gap indeed.

"I think I love you."

"House! Are you crazy?"


	11. Chapter 11

"I think I love you."

"House! Are you crazy?"

The moment the words left his mouth, Wilson wished he hadn't said them. House jumped out of the bed and disappeared as fast as his legs could carry him; soon he could hear the sound of the shower. 

Slowly he managed to get out of bed himself, then he waddled towards his own bathroom. He wished for a moment that he were a pregnant woman, with extra blood and a larger heart to manage months of moving with extra weight. With a sigh he let himself into the bath and started the water, until he was soaked until his throat.

House had said he thought he loved him. What did this mean? Was it even true, and if so, what should he do about it? His first reaction had been his standard one towards gay proposals since the end of college: a you-can't-mean-this refusal. 

But House... House was a different matter altogether. He had never even allowed himself to seriously consider the possibility, and just enjoyed the undercurrent of sexual thrill their friendship offered, knowing that on his side it was so much more than friendship, but trying hard to remember it as rarely as possible, lest House should notice. Of course there was one occasion in the recent past in which he had admitted to others, hence by necessity to himself, his real feelings for his best friend, but he never for a minute imagined House could return his affection.

Could it be that House was just pitying him? Unlikely; judging from their past choices, Wilson was the one attracted to people in need. Plus, House wasn't the kind of man to throw around the world love lightly. No, hard as it was to believe, the more likely options was that House's declaration was nothing but the complete truth.

Which meant he would have a possibility he had never even dreamt about. The problem was that there was probably no way back, no return to friendship if the relationship didn't work. But this was already true, after what House had just said. The many reasons to avoid a same-sex relationship seemed, for the first time in his life, irrelevant. 

It was time to go and talk to House. With an effort he extricated himself from the bath; he quickly toweled himself but didn't bother to dress, and slowly walked to House's room, leaning some of his weight on House's spare cane (which he had taken the habit of using since his weight gain had passed the thirty pounds mark).

He was surprised to find the door closed, and no sound coming. He knocked. No answer. He tried the handle, thinking House had fallen asleep, but found it locked. "House? I'm sorry for what I said. I didn't mean it and we need to talk. Can you let me in?"

"Go away, Wilson. I'll see you later, but now I need to be alone."

There was no point insisting, so Wilson turned back and started moving towards his room. The pain was now starting to throb again in his lower back and he leaned a bit more heavily on the cane, stopped briefly to breathe in and out, then moved again. He felt the blood in his ears rushing, wondered whether there was a problem with his pressure.

Finally he was at his door, feeling very weak: he had eaten next to nothing for two weeks now, since whenever he tried a hefty nausea overwhelmed him, and he had been too long without his nourishing, pain-reducing infusion.

"House will come soon," he thought as he collapsed on the floor.

\-----  
"Wilson! Wake up!"

He came to slowly, the pain seeping through before the messages from the senses. He was back in his hospital bed, an infusion in the vein of his right arm.

"I'm sorry, but your blood pressure was through the roof. Now I have it under control, but I have to check there's no damage. How's the pain? Give me a number."

"A six. Did you already try the new painkiller cocktail?"

"No, just the usual OTC stuff. I'll start it now."

Wilson smiled as he checked his watch: he had been right. Sex endorphins had a long duration, they had now been working for more than three hours. Then his face clouded again; it was time for the truth.

"House, sit near me, please."

His friend looked like he had aged noticeably in those three hours. The wrinkles were etched deep in his face, his cheeks were sunken in, and his eyes were red and swollen. He did as he was told, but as if every movement gave him new pain.

Wilson took hold of both his hands. "Have you ever discovered how I convinced them to let me take your place?"

House shook his head. 

"I told them I loved you. That making you pain-free was as much of a reward for me as it was for you."

There was bitterness in the voice immediately quipping "They must be easy to fool."

"Maybe. Maybe not as much as you think."

"So why would you never have told me? Why did you keep marrying one soulless bitch after the other?"

Wilson felt dizzy. He couldn't really believe they were having this conversation, and yet he must. Including revealing truths he wasn't proud of.

"I didn't want to be in a relationship with a man. I thought it would harm my career, and it certainly would have finished ruining my relationship with my parents. They're angry enough I don't have children. And anyway, I never felt you were interested."

"You must be more stupid than I thought."

"Seriously, House? I've felt you caring about my physical well-being only since the implant, and I thought it was your guilt kicking in. Did I miss something earlier?"

This time it was House that lowered his eyes. Wilson had to strain to catch his words, spoken in a very low tone.

"You might be right. I never thought of you that way before. But this," he pointed to the round belly, "this made it difficult to ignore your body. And massaging you, making you horny, was much more pleasant than it had any logical reason to be. I've had plenty of time to think, here, and nothing and no one else to think about." 

House sipped his ginger ale. He had given up alcohol completely, ostensibly because 'he was bored of it', since he had started caring for Wilson full time.

"I didn't ask myself too many questions. I just enjoyed our time together, knowing we would eventually go back to our normal life in Princeton, minus my pain. What happens in Texas stays in Texas, as they say."

The voice was a whisper now.

"Then you asked me to have sex with you, and you did it in such a cold way. As if it would be just another form of medication. As if you couldn't even imagine that there could be love involved. I... I'll do it again, if you deem it necessary, but it hurt like hell."

"I lied because I didn't want to scare you. Believe me, House, please. I care for you."

"So you... you would want to have a relationship with me?" House sounded wary, almost uninterested. Exhausted. "A relationship that wouldn't crumble the moment you're back in the real world and resume your women-hunting life?"

"Maybe facts will be clearer than words." The pain didn't diminish, but it faded into the back of his mind as his lips touched House's who first remained passive, than slowly started to reciprocate, becoming more and more passionate.

As the kiss finally broke up House's eyes were no longer sad, but full of fear. "Wilson... please don't lie to me about this. You're too important. Don't lie to me, even for a few weeks. I... I don't know I could survive it. I would go mad."

Wilson smiled, letting his fingers glide through the thinning and greying curls, sprinkling delicate kisses all over the scruff, so much softer than he would have imagined it. 

"It's true, House. Trust me. It's true."


	12. Chapter 12

"It's true, House. Trust me. It's true."

House tried to think, his head swimming, the smell and touch of Wilson in his arms making him sway. He fixed his eyes on Wilson's, and then something inside him snapped. Wilson wouldn't lie to him. Couldn't. He kissed him again, and this time no one broke the kiss except for breathing for a very, very long time.

\--------

House woke up slowly, nudged awake by Wilson rolling over and placing a hot thigh over his own. It felt so good, every morning, to wake up in Wilson's bed.

Wilson was no longer able to stand up at all, so House had to help him with his personal hygiene in ways that might have upset many a long-term partner, but he didn't care. Wilson loved him, and this was all that counted. They made love frequently, and the fact that it helped Wilson feel better was now just a welcome plus. 

They had made plans together on what they were going to do once this crazy time was over: come out to everyone who might be relevant, buy a new place, and of course try a number of positions and techniques that Wilson's condition made impossible right now. They had made plans for the future together: House repeated the thought in his own mind, savoring it like a choice bourbon. So many years after the break-up with Stacy he was finally in a relationship again, and this time one made to last. They had already gone through so much together.

Wilson moaned with pain but didn't wake up, instead he just snuggled a bit closer to House. If only Wilson wasn't so stubborn in his desire to risk his life for an alien he would never meet. And yet House had to admit to himself that he wasn't surprised; in fact, Wilson's choices in the whole business (from the moment he had taken House's place as incubator onwards) were consistent with the character traits that made him so fascinating in his own eyes.

Wilson moaned louder, and shifted position. Five thirty: he would wake up very soon. He spooned closer, enjoying the contact with Wilson's skin, his cock hardening nestled in the other's warmth.

\-----

"Wilson, I don't like your test results. What's wrong with you?"

Wilson drew a deep breath, obviously trying to control the pain long enough to speak. "The... the alien within me."

"Let's call it Junior," quipped House in an exasperated tone.

Wilson tried to smile but with very little success. Obviously talking was hard enough.

"Junior is getting ready for the outside world. Where his ancestors would kill unsatisfactory hosts by giving them pain beyond their tolerance level, and he's practicing on my spine right now. Somewhere around the fourth lumbar vertebra, I would say."

"He is... killing you with pain?"

"He's trying, or rather training his ability to do so. It's an instinctive response for the fetus, and most aliens have enough control of their nervous system that they can survive the assault, but a significant minority doesn't. Apparently, neither have humans: our lovemaking is starting not to be enough. It only takes the edge off it, and the pain keeps growing. It's supposed to, until delivery, but I doubt I'll make it."

House felt his heart skipping several beats. They were so close to the end, they had found love together, and now they were risking it all for some crazy alien? "Are you considering termination, now?"

Wilson stared back, his gaze unwavering. "Not until I've exhausted every other option. But of course I have to think of it. I'm not suicidal."

A sigh of relief escaped him. House started conjecturing how many days it would take until Wilson admitted defeat and agreed to terminate.

"What other options are there? A spinal block for more than thirty minutes every eight to ten hours would kill Junior, I cannot put you in a pharmacological coma for the same reason, we have tried every painkiller known to mankind plus mind-blowing sex. Yet you're getting worse and worse."

Wilson managed to get hold of one of House's hands. Pain filled his eyes, and he was shaking so much as to make it difficult to understand his words. "There's something we haven't tried yet. I've been thinking about it for weeks, and I've discussed it with the aliens. They were very reluctant, but agreed under the condition that it was the last hope to save the pregnancy. And insisted I should discuss this with you. I hoped I wouldn't have to resort to this, but I want to try it now, before it's too late. Look at it, then you'll give me a spinal block so we can discuss it."

"Look at it? Can't you just tell me what crazy idea you've gotten?"

"I wrote notes for you, they're in my desk drawer. It will be easier if you first get familiar with the idea before we discuss it, and I don't feel I can talk much more now anyway. Kiss me, House, and then don't make me talk until it's time for my spinal."

House wished he could share some of Wilson's pain. He wondered if Wilson had ever felt the same towards him since the infarction, then he corrected himself: of course he had. He gave him all he could, namely a long, passionate kiss (interrupted once by a retching attempt) then found the folder and, grabbing his reading glasses, lay down on the comfortable armchair and immersed himself in the few pages in front of him.

And then his blood curdled in his veins with horror. "Wilson... you can't be serious," he whispered, and at the same time knew that Wilson meant every word. He ended up counting the minutes until it made sense to start preparing the spinal block: they definitely needed to talk.


	13. Chapter 13

"This feels good. So, what do you think? I'm very proud of my brilliant idea." 

The block made him feel almost giddy with relief. He was proud of his idea, but at the same time he knew House wouldn't appreciate it. Hell, he didn't like it himself at all, but he felt he had no other choice.

"Wilson, are you completely crazy? You want your spine broken so Junior will no longer able to torture you. Brilliant, indeed. Did it occur to you that you will stay in a wheelchair for the rest of your life, with no control nor sensation from the waist down? You will never walk, or use the bathroom normally. Your life expectancy will be reduced." 

House's tone became plaintive, and he was obviously close to tears. 

"We'll never make love again, Wilson. Never. You can't do that to me, to us."

Wilson knew it too well. He was sure he would miss sex with House more than walking. And bowel/bladder control more than either, unfortunately. 

"It's the only way to save the life of a child."

"I don't understand why you cannot terminate. When you were younger you even performed abortions at Planned Parenthood, and we both donate to them. Have you found religion now? The aliens as Holy Ghost?"

This question he had expected, and had an answer to. 

"No, I'm as pro-choice as ever. But that's what choice means, really: I decide."

"At least if this was your child, I would understand."

"You wouldn't."

"I would. Understand doesn't mean approve." 

There was definitely anger in House's voice. Time to tell him the whole truth, and keep his fingers crossed about the reaction.

"If it were a human fetus I might have taken a different decision at this point. But what is in my belly now is already a child, currently frightened out of its wits."

House's eyes snapped wide open. 

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"The aliens are telepaths. They told me only last night, when I thought pain was driving me completely crazy and I was imagining voices in my head like Joan of Arc; turns out it was Junior, who has now reached the stage when he starts communicating emotions. He can sense my fear, and is terribly afraid too. He may even be able to talk to me soon." 

Wilson looked at House closely, waiting for his words to sink in.

"You mean Junior is... conscious? Rational?" 

House sounded frightened. Desperate, in fact, as he fully realized the implication of Wilson's words.

"Like a two-year-old, I would say. He had stopped crying when you started the spinal block because I felt so much better, but now he's complaining again because he feels the drugs are hurting him."

"Can't you just tell Junior to stop killing you?"

"They have tried, I have tried, it doesn't work. It's a deeply rooted instinct, too strong to be overruled by Junior's still rudimental self-control. They conjecture that evolution tuned up the pain to the limit of what the childbearing parent could stand, just like human evolution brought the measure of a newborn's skull to the maximum that would fit in an average pelvis. We have invented c-sections hence mothers rarely die in case of disproportion, but they still haven't found a solution."

House held Wilson's hands painfully hard, looked into Wilson's eyes, then closed his own and thought briefly. When he spoke, his voice was carefully kept unemotional. 

"So your choice is between being stuck in a wheelchair for life and killing a frightened toddler who's begging you for mercy?"

Wilson nodded. House had summarized the situation correctly, and he knew Wilson better than anyone else, including his massive guilt about not having children, his desperation every time (and it was often) one of his pediatric patients lost his or her unequal fight against disease. He wouldn't let a child die if he could avoid it, whatever the cost.

House looked away, out of the window, between the iron bars, for a very long time, then turned back to face him and nodded, while silent tears slowly rolled down from the corners of his eyes, sliding along his wrinkled cheeks until they got lost in the scruff. 

"You've given this so-called brilliant idea a lot of thought, haven't you?"

House looked at him with so pain-filled eyes that Wilson braced himself inwardly as he answered affirmatively: now he would try to talk him into terminating instead. Which meant he wasn't ready at all for House's next words, which were not a request.

"As you said, your body, your choice. I just wish your choice would be different."

Wilson couldn't believe he was hearing right. 

"You... you agree?"

"It breaks my heart, but it is unfortunately too consistent with your usual attitude towards your pediatric patients. You're an adult and a doctor, Wilson, you know what you're giving up, what life you're choosing for yourself. And for us."

House looked away again, his blue eyes lost in the distance. Or rather in a distant past, as it turned out. 

"I loved Stacy, Wilson, and I wanted to spend my life with her. I was ready to marry her, and I would even have fathered a child, had she wanted one. But once she disregarded my choice I never could forgive her, even if she probably saved my life. The bond of trust between us was broken. I don't want to be like Stacy, to choose for you and lose you. And now, if you don't mind, I need to go the washroom."

He turned around and limped away hurriedly, but not fast enough to hide the tears.

Wilson was left alone to reflect about the many forms love declarations could take, and about the price he and House would have to pay in order to save the young life within him. A little bundle of consciousness in a corner of his own mind was clearly relieved, and allowed himself to be lulled into rest by the drugs still in Wilson's system. 

\-----  
"I think my sensibility is returning. My pain certainly is."

House nodded. "Let me try."

The scruff he had learned to love left his face, where it had been busy kissing for a while, and started descending; from the navel downwards, nose and mouth followed the thin line of dark hair. Wilson could feel every quarter inch of progress, and tried hard to impress in his own mind the feel of it. The last time, House had called it, and in a sense he was right. The last time Wilson could fully participate. He had a moment of doubt, but it was just a moment, and soon he forced himself to forget this was the last time and just enjoy the lovemaking as much as he could.

By the time House had removed all their clothing and started licking and sucking the tip of his as-yet-soft member Wilson was already in mind-numbing pain. With an effort, he managed to concentrate himself on the pleasure, and soon blood was flowing inside his corpora carvenosa; eventually, a smirk he had learned to know showed him that House's saliva and tears were mixed with Cooper's fluid in his mouth.

House lifted his face, and his desperate eyes bore holes in Wilson's peace of mind. "Do you think you can top?"

Wilson smiled, fighting the pain inside him. "I'll try, if you help me."

\------

Eight hours later he was on spinal block again, chatting with the aliens.

"You convinced Dr. House, and you both know the consequences of your choice. You have our permission, and Dr. House will perform the surgery, as you requested. You can still change your mind, though. No pressure. If you decide to terminate we'll tell the parents that the fetus died naturally."

"Thank you." 

Wilson was worried about the future, but he had felt the relief of the little frightened mind inside him, the psychological equivalent of a small hand curling full of trust in his own big one, and he felt he had no real choice.

"Should we start now, or would you prefer to wait?"

Wilson was tempted: more lovemaking, more time for House to say goodbye to his body. But then his mind went back to the torture that the last few hours had been, once the afterglow of sex had waned. He couldn't face an enhanced version of that again, complicated by the screams of fear of the alien (the child, he surprised himself thinking) within his brain. 

He was glad he had succeeded in topping once, if one could call it that when he was lying on his back and House was straddling him, in complete control over whatever was happening; still it was more than he could ever hope to do in the future. At least they would have good memories.

"I want it done now, if House agrees."


	14. Chapter 14

House washed his hands, removed the surgical gear, and checked Wilson's vitals one last time. Everything seemed fine - including the titanium disc between the second and the third lumbar vertebrae. He was currently on assisted respiration because of the anesthesia, but soon it would be time to wake him up to his new life, a life without pain from the waist down - and without sensation or movement either. 

A life without sex. The little they'd shared, clumsy because of the big belly and always mingled with physical pain, was all they were ever going to get. The years of friendship past seemed to mock him, reminding him of all the opportunities they'd missed - what if they had started a relationship before the implant? Before the infarction? Before Wilson's wives? He held the hot hands (Wilson's temperature was now hovering between 102 and 103, and would stay so until delivery) as if he could give comfort to the unconscious body before him. 

Then he went to the terminal: he needed to talk to someone, even if it was just words on a screen written by an alien he had never seen. There was already a message waiting.

"You did a great job, Dr. House."

"Thank you, so did your robotic assistants. And yet I don't know whether I did the right thing. In a sense I certainly didn't, since I severed a completely healthy spine."

Again, the answer came faster than House would have considered reasonable. But of course this reaction, as well as many possible others, had been previewed and prepared for. 

"You did what Dr. Wilson asked you to do. You were on his side, despite your own personal interest going in a different direction. It was very brave and very respectful of you. And you saved my brother. I am personally thankful, and am only sorry that the rather limited communication we can have prevents me from sharing the full range of my emotions as well as a direct contact with my parents, my other sibling, and many other members of my people. The ethics commission evaluating all we are doing gave a very positive opinion as well."

House wondered how much this knowledge would comfort him in the long years ahead. Years pushing Wilson's wheelchair, caring for a maimed body, even assuming that they would stay together - once he regained his senses Wilson may well be very angry at House for accepting the deal.

"Dr. House? Sorry for the intrusion into your thoughts, but you're basically shouting and I can't avoid hearing. Dr. Wilson knows that you had asked what would happen if you refused to operate, and was told that a robotic surgeon would have done it. So he knows it cannot be seen as your fault that he's crippled."

House stared incredulous at the screen. Had he been so open all the time? How much did they know about his thoughts and feelings? and Wilson's? "You... you read my mind all the time?"

"No, we try not to. But it's hard to avoid noticing your most intense emotions."

"Do you... do you think he will still love me?" Pathetic. He was now asking an alien for relationship advice. And yet, he looked forward to the next answer onscreen as to a prophecy, or at least an omen.

"We cannot look into the future any more than you can. But so far he is mostly worried that you'll eventually get tired of a wheelchair-bound partner, especially one with a severely limited sex life. Remember, we wouldn't have accepted the exchange between the two of you if we hadn't been able to read in his mind how much he loved you, and since when."

When he read the last sentence House felt he hadn't known what heartache meant until then. He cried, not caring how much the alien or aliens were hearing. At least there was now something for him to do: convince Wilson that his own love was no passing fad, no matter how sick either of them would become. No matter what they could or couldn't do in bed together.

A beeping sound distracted him: Wilson would wake up soon. He shivered as he limped to his friend, drying the tears out his eyes as much as he could.

He sat at his bedside and took hold of his hand again, glancing at the numbers on the monitor (which were as good as could be expected) and sighing with relief at having been able to arrive before Wilson regained full consciousness. It was a matter of less than a minute, though, and Wilson opened his eyes, then pointed clumsily to the breathing tube with the left hand (the right was hooked to the finger monitor and an infusion needle). 

House removed the tube from his throat quickly yet carefully, and gave him a glass of water; joy surged in him at seeing the beloved face finally pain-free, and then it fought with desperation at the thought of what the long-term implications of the surgery he had performed were. He forced himself to smile, and Wilson smiled back and squeezed his hand.

Then he coughed, gulped and managed to speak. "Thank you," he said, "for helping me," and House's firm determination not to cry in his presence was immediately shattered as he took in his arms the man he loved. The man he'd cut in two.


	15. Chapter 15

Wilson opened his eyes and looked at his watch: six am. From House's side of the bed came a soft, gentle snoring. He used his arms to turn around enough to look at the man he loved, and sighed. House had cried himself to sleep every night since they had started sharing a bed again after the operation. He always waited until Wilson pretended to be asleep, and then he cried and cried. 

He wondered whether his choice had been the right one, but for once he didn't have to think too long: a small voice from inside him was saying a clear yes. 'Yes'. A word. A word from the alien inside him.

'I guess I'm imagining it, right?' He had been told that there was a chance in the last few weeks that the fetus could say its first word, and much earlier it would understand Wilson's thoughts if he concentrated and pretended to say them out loud. 'No' came into his mind. Yes, no. A consciousness. Words. A sentient being. An innocent child.

He tried sending a message back, as simple and clear as he could. 'Don't worry, I'm glad you're here. Now we're both out of danger, too.' This time there were no words, but the feeling of a hug. Like House's tight, loving hug. Of course the alien could only make his brain reproduce sensation Wilson had felt since the implant, and this was definitely the most comforting feeling he could mimic. Except... he suddenly felt as if House's cock was sliding inside him, his fingers playing with his own currently useless one as they used to. His heart started racing as tears of regret welled up in his eyes. 'No, no!' he screamed inside his own head.

The sensation stopped, and he felt a yearning for explanation, a wordless why. He tried to think: how do you explain sex and privacy and loss to an alien toddler in your own belly? No way. He just repeated no, than thought of hugging and of the word 'yes'. After a while, the hugging sensation was repeated, as well as the word yes.

"Morning, Wilson. Are you... okay? You seem upset." House's hand caressed the huge belly above the navel, where Wilson could still feel the touch.

"Good morning. Yes, all is okay, I just... just woke up early this morning."

\-----

They didn't have sex again after the operation. Wilson had tried suggesting that House's pleasure would be enough for both, but House had refused, finally pulling down his jeans and underwear to show him that he couldn't even get it up. They'd been kissing like lovesick teenagers, hugging and holding hands, but that had been all.

House spent hours every day researching the medical literature for possibilities to 'fix Wilson up' once the alien was gone. He had a lot of spare time because Wilson needed much less care now that he was no longer in pain, but unfortunately there was not so much hope to be gained from his researches; in fact, he reported sadly that all scholarly articles seemed to chronicle different chapters of one and the same extended failure.

Wilson spent part of his time alone trying to comfort and encourage the growing conscience inside him, and part of it chatting with the parents and elder siblings, all apparently busy with doing their own research to try and give the human surrogate parent a chance to heal.

\-----  
They had just finished dinner, and Wilson was trying to think about the time after delivery, now expected within the week, but his thoughts kept coming back to the disability he had chosen to face. He had learned to move around with the wheelchair, started a few simple exercises to keep some muscular mass in his legs (he would do more once the belly was gone) and they both had started to get used to their new routine. Their new life. However long House was going to tolerate it, he mused. Better to think of the near future only.

"Have you already told people at the hospital that we'll come back soon?"

House nodded. "Yes, except I don't know yet how we'll explain... this," he said, pointing to the wheelchair. 

"Explain what? I need one."

"How about how your spine got broken, and why is there a titanium disc in it?" 

House was worried, and Wilson understood why; an explanation was needed.

"I arranged this with their help. They'll remove the disc during delivery, once junior's out and can no longer be tempted to slide his tendrils in the upper part of my spine. They paid someone to fake enough documents to make it appear I was involved in a car accident, and I'll pretend to have amnesia so I can't remember the details."

House nodded. "What about delivery? Is a date fixed yet?"

Wilson lowered his eyes. "House..."

The other looked away. "Tell me it's not what I think. Please."

"It seems so pointless to schedule a delivery now. He'll be born the natural way."

"Slicing you open from the inside? With no anesthesia?"

"Well, he'll probably cut in the part of me where I can't feel pain, and they'll put me under and operate on me immediately. It's supposed to be the healthiest way for..."

"...Junior, I know. Christ, Wilson, can't you think of yourself just for once?" 

There was no trace of anger in House's face, just the glistening of tears. Wilson hugged him tenderly.

"It's only for a few more days. Probably five." 

Suddenly, Wilson's right foot moved and stomped slightly on the floor six times. They both turned pale, although House took a bit longer to realize who was sharing their conversation.

Wilson took each of House's hands in one of his.

"House, he's talking to us. You understand now that I had no choice? I can feel his gratitude as I speak."

He was relieved when House squeezed back.

"I know, Wilson. I... I wish you had chosen differently, but this is who you are and I can't change you anymore than you can change me."

House had actually changed a lot for his sake, but Wilson decided it was better not to say it aloud.

\-----

Wilson woke up and rubbed his eyes. This was the last day, or tomorrow if Junior had been right. And he remembered he had had wild erotic dreams again. Since he had discovered that during his sleep Wilson didn't fight against pleasure but enjoyed it, Junior had let him re-experience all of his love-making sessions with House, or sometimes a mixture of them, except he only had the pleasure without the pain. Apparently Junior had understood what he was missing, and was trying to give him as much as possible as long as he could. 

He had told House about the dreams, but he hadn't mentioned that the alien inside him was probably their cause. All he knew is that they felt very much like the real thing, and that he would miss them when Junior was gone.

\-----

He woke up from his best erotic dream ever, a pain-free version of his last intercourse with House, culminating into his lover's contracting ring muscles pumping him empty while a completely spent voice kept repeating 'yes' and 'more'. 

As he was no longer used to pain, he gasped, then inhaled sharply. The pain was a completely new one: very sharp, starting abruptly in the part of his belly where sensibility began, and becoming like fire less than an inch higher.

A voice filled his consciousness from the inside. 

'Now.'

He switched on the bedside light and looked with horror at the growing scarlet stain on his t-shirt and the quivering claw in its center.

'Call. Help.' 

He turned his head and saw blue eyes staring at the claw: House's sleep was very light, and Wilson had probably made the mattress shift.

"I'll go to the computer immediately."

A quick kiss and he was out of their bed, and soon typing away. He checked the answer on the screen and went back to Wilson.

"They're waiting for you. Let's go."

He helped Wilson on the stretcher and wheeled him into the operating room, where everything had long been ready. Once there he hesitated briefly, one hand holding the anesthesia mask, the other squeezed between shivering, hot fingers.

"Wilson... will you marry me when we're back in Princeton? No need to answer now, but you'll think about it, alright?"

The ensuing kiss was long and passionate and fiery; as they both knew, it was possible that Wilson would never wake up, his body unable to recover its natural balance after the many months of it being overruled by the alien parasite and its neurological effects. The pain in Wilson's belly got more urgent, but he still managed to whisper "I'll think about it. I love you, too."

House managed a little smile. "I'll be there when you wake up."

The missing 'if' was the big elephant in the room, and they both knew it. Wilson nodded again, and House put the mask in place.

As he breathed deeply and consciousness faded, one more word appeared in his dimming mind: 'Thanks'. 'Happy birthday, Junior,' he silently answered.


	16. Chapter 16

House was waiting. The person he loved was risking his life on the other side of a locked door to bring a new sentient being into the world, and all he could do was sit and wait. He laughed bitterly. How many men had done the same in the history of the world? Yes, it was a man and not a woman he was worried about. But this probably wasn't a big difference, and the same was true for the fact that the being about to be born was neither blood related to him, nor human. 

He wished he could get a cigarette, or a glass of whiskey. He had tried to read, to listen to music and to watch TV, but he was too restless to concentrate on anything; he had stopped pacing the room only when his right thigh had given way below him, sending him unceremoniously to the floor.

He had expected the door to open, but of course it didn't; instead, a new chatline dinged onscreen. 

"Parent and son healthy, separation complete, no complications. The door's unlocked, you can get in now; he should wake up within an hour."

\-----

Wilson was unconscious but at least breathing naturally; his temperature was also back to normal, although House couldn't resist checking the data on the monitor by swiping his fingers on his forehead, which looked paler than usual now, alarmingly close in color to the pillow supporting it.

There was something else House couldn't resist, and he pulled back the bed linen, then up the gown. A substantial bandage hid Wilson's midsection, from below the ribs to just above the tangle of dark hair. There would be a long scar, he knew; at least the tissues were neither feverish nor tense or swollen, everything seemed to be going as well as possible. 

He was glad he couldn't see the smaller scar on the back, the one he had directly caused. Although in a sense he had been the cause of this all, his desire to live without pain and Wilson's long love for him. He sighed as almost against his will his hands sought out the wrinkled genitals, caressed all the intimate folds he loved so much and he would never be able to enjoy again.

With an effort he replaced gown and cover, and sat down near Wilson, holding his hand. He waited for him to wake up without sleeping or reading, just staring at the white wall in front of him with unseeing eyes.

\------

He saw eyelids quiver slightly, heard the breath become stronger, and soon dark brown eyes were staring at him, brows arched in a wordless question.

"Junior will be fine, Wilson. Soon you'll be able to chat with his family yourself, but believe me, all went well."

Wilson smiled, then coughed in the glass of water House had given him before finally swallowing it all.

"And I'm also doing well, or you wouldn't be so calm."

He looked down to where the belly used to be, then his hands suddenly cupped House's face and drew him in for a long kiss. There was a weird medicinal taste in his mouth, but it was irrelevant. Medically irrelevant, and even more to his happiness. Wilson was back, was fine, they had the rest of their lives to be together. If he accepted, of course.

"Don't misunderstand me, House, but... I'm kind of missing Junior. It was a strange feeling, sharing my body with another life, but a surprisingly fulfilling one."

Fear ran through House's mind. "You... are you telling me you want to get married again and have kids of your own?"

A longer and more passionate kiss made him feel somewhat more at ease. 

"No, silly you. I love you and I'll probably marry you, but I think we're none of us in the best frame of mind for taking such an important decision. I've made too many mistakes and I don't want you to make one, not even for me."

Another kiss.

"You mean... it's a yes?"

"If you don't change your mind once we're back and you realize how much of a pain in the neck I am as a full-time life mate, yes."

This time it was House that started the kiss; Wilson however brought things one step up by letting his left hand land on House's crotch and explore thoroughly. When they came up for air, Wilson had a rather interesting expression and House a bulge in his pants.

"And now that there's no longer Junior between us, I want sex! And that's not just holding hands."

House blanched. In his happiness he had forgotten. "But, Wilson..."

The smile became even more mischievous. "Not now, of course. Soon, though. I know what I want and you're going to give it to me or I'm dumping your sorry ass."

\-----

The suitcases were closed and everything was ready, on Wilson's insistence, although it still was several hours until they would be picked up and driven to the airport. They would cross the border by car, fly to Yucatan where they would get back their usual identities, and finally fly back to Princeton. 

Wilson was in the bathroom, probably busy in some mysterious grooming ritual that had been forgotten during pregnancy. Finally the purring of the electric wheelchair made him realize he wasn't alone.

"So, are you..."

His words stopped abruptly as he noticed Wilson was naked. 

"What... what do you want?"

"I thought it was obvious. Sex. Will you help me on the bed? I think this wheelchair is too small for the two of us."

House nodded, sadness and desire stirring within him.


	17. Chapter 17

"I don't see why you should step down permanently. Brown will be relieved to give you back your position."

"I don't want it. I'm not the man I used to be, Cuddy, and not just in the physical sense. I could have died, and I've had lots of time to think. I want to work part time."

"I've seen your request. You know that it would involve a substantial pay cut, right? Plus, you can't go on staying in a hotel, and you'll need live-in help."

Wilson sighed. For an instant he wished House was there, but then thought better of it. He had to tell her himself.

"Cuddy, all I need is for you to accept House's request for reduced clinic hours and especially one more team member, so that he can do some of his work from home. With what you'll save by reducing my income it shouldn't be a problem. We're moving in together, buying a wheelchair-accessible cottage; we'll hire household help too, but he'll take care of me on a daily basis."

The Dean narrowed her eyes: it was obvious she was suspecting a trap of some kind.

"Why would a selfish bastard like House do this? Was he the one driving when you had the accident?"

He could read in her eyes the reaction to the obvious hurt in his face.

"The accident wasn't his fault."

"Sorry, I... I talked without thinking. Of course House wants to take care of you. You're his only friend."

Now. He had to say it now.

"It's more than that, Lisa. He's doing it out of love. We'll be sharing a bedroom too."

Her blue eyes opened up wide. So did her mouth, but she quickly covered it with one hand. He saw her furiously thinking, trying to figure out whether this could possibly be a prank. He was almost done, just needed to insist now.

"I'm not lying. If you prefer we can both tell you together, that's what he wanted anyway. It was my idea to do otherwise, you know how he is, he'd probably end up groping me in front of you."

She nodded, her mouth now a thin, tense line of lipstick, looking happy and sad at the same time as the truth sank in. Her gaze briefly wandered away, and seemed to consider possibilities that were now definitely gone. But then she focused on Wilson again, and gave him a most encouraging smile. 

"How many people know about this?"

"For the moment I would prefer to keep things private. House wants to tell everyone but I think it's too soon."

Her eyes sharpened again. Damn, she'd known him too long.

"You're scared, Wilson. What are you afraid of? That he'll go back to opiates? Or to the non-flat-chested sex?"

He could have lied, but he didn't.

"No, I'm afraid that taking care of a disabled person will be too much for him. If he leaves me I don't want the whole hospital angry at him."

"What does he say about this?"

"That I'm a complete idiot."

"He's probably right. He's the most stubborn person on the planet, if he has decided to be with you he won't let a wheelchair change his mind. I'll grant both of your requests, and if he doesn't treat you well, let me know and I'll give him extra clinic hours."

________

"Good afternoon, Dr. Wilson. Congratulations again on getting your part-time contract. Don't worry, we'll take care of the financial side of this."

"Thank you. How's Junior?"

"Always the first thing you ask, you're behaving like a true childbearing parent. He's doing really well physically; it seems likely he will stay a bit small sized as he grows, the pediatrician treating him thinks it's partially genetics, partially the effect of his non-standard fetal life."

"How about intellectual development? Is he normal?"

"No, he's not, and we should have all our kids incubated by humans judging by the result. He's much more advanced than he should be, so much so that he'll probably end up starting formal education earlier than planned."

Wilson smiled at the screen, feeling proud and sad at the same time. He wondered whether this is how mothers felt when their children were doing well but away from them.

"Do you think I'll eventually be able to be in touch with him?"

"Sure. And before that, there's someone else who will soon talk to you. My childbearing parent is now back to full consciousness, and I believe he has a lot to discuss with you."

\-------

"Yes. Please. Yes."

Wilson concentrated on what he was doing. Having House become undone under his touch was something he really, really loved, and he was enjoying a more varied sex life with him than in any of his marriages, if nothing else because thanks to the internet to eliminate embarrassment and a complete lack of money problems he could finally give in to his taste for toys.

"Oh. Ooohhh. OOOOOHHHHH."

He wished his mouth wasn't too full to smile. Apparently House hadn't expected the ridgy dildo to have a vibrating function. He slowed down his tongue and almost pulled his mouth off House completely, he should take it easy if he wanted him to last through all the five different vibration modes. House immediately started whimpering and trashing around, trying to fight the restraints on his ankles and wrists to fuck Wilson's mouth.

Wilson tried to resist, than he gave in to his own desires and deep throated House again, after giving a tiny lovebite to the glans, which produced an incredibly erotic moan. He could still try the various levels another time, he decided: he switched off the vibration and pushed a finger alongside the dildo, making sure to hit and hit House's prostate while using all he had in his throat to suck him. It took less than twenty seconds before House gave up any form of resistance and came, spewing long and deep inside him while his finger keep coaxing out delicious contractions for a longer time. 

It was many minutes later that House managed to string words together again; by then Wilson had pulled himself up with his strong arms and was now comfortably enjoying the contact of House's chest with his own while giving little kisses and bites on his jawline.

"Untie me now, Wilson, let me do you."

"No, it's enough for now. I'm tired."

"This is not fair."

There was sadness mixed into House's well-fucked bliss.

"I had enough, really, and enjoyed it. I just can't always orgasm. Don't take it personally, you know I love sex."

"It's because we're doing it too often. If we kept it at once or twice a week and you would let me concentrate on you, I'm sure you would come every time. At least I hope it's true when you say you do."

"i can't believe we're having this discussion again. Don't be so insecure, will you? And we do have sex just-for-me twice a week already. Three times, often."

"But I always come, even if I just suck, lick and touch you. You're so hot it's unfair."

Wilson kissed his boyfriend passionately. 

"It isn't. You're giving me as much direct pleasure as I can take, plus you're sharing the pleasure in your cock and ass."

House didn't say sorry, nor did he explicitly acknowledge the truth of Wilson's statement, but his eyes spoke for him.

"Can you untie me now? I need to clean us up."

"Not right now. I love it when you're completely helpless."

He kissed him longer, enjoying the unashamed sensuality of it. Sex without lower body involvement had been tricky at first, but had ended up working really, really well. House had mapped all of Wilson's upper-body skin and discovered a surprising number of erogenous zones; he had carefully studied the relevant scientific literature (i.e., they had watched together dozens of hours of porn) to find better ways to stimulate each of them. To please Wilson better he also had a number of toys, some bought and some home made using hospital supplies. 

He was lucky, Wilson felt: they both were. Yet, he wished there could be a way to persuade House to fuck him in the ass again. Unfortunately, his lover adamantly refused to have sexual contact with any part of him where he was not sensitive. He sighed, finished the kiss, gave one quick see-you-soon bite to each of House's sensitive nipples, and started undoing the cuffs.


	18. Chapter 18

"Dr. Cameron, Chase, Foreman. May I introduce you to Dr. Hadley, our new team member."

Foreman gasped, Chase straightened his tie: only Cameron displayed a suitable, welcoming smile - except she slyly threw a very sharp look at him. He smirked at the thought she might be jealous.

"Make her welcome while the old cripple follows nature's call." He turned to the new doctor. "That means I'm going to pee, you know. I'm not a fan of euphemisms."

When he came back they were all chatting relaxed, sharing coffee and chocolates (so that was the rectangular bulk he had seen in Hadley's bag). The conversation muted when he stepped in.

"I could clearly hear the word Vicodin, Chase. And the word addict."

"We were telling her how surprised we are that you managed to detox. We all thought the rehab abroad was a scam, but it seems to have worked well."

He poured himself a coffee, sat down at his place and stretched his legs, kneading the right thigh briefly.

"Yep, uncool as that may be. Dr. Hadley knows that part of the conditions for me to be able to hire her is that I get a weekly blood test to check for opiates. Our Dean negotiated it against a premium reduction from our malpractice insurance company. Apparently addict doctors are viewed as a liability."

There was concern now in Cameron's eyes, fixed on his bad leg.

"House, are you sure OTC medication is enough?"

"That's thanks to my new fabulous masseuse and her happy endings. I would give you her number but I suspect you're the only one at this table who would not be interested in being her client."

He turned towards Hadley with a mock embarrassed smile.

"Oops! Did I say something I shouldn't have?"

Hadley sighed. House had had two long interviews with her, and he knew she had had a frank discussion with Cuddy about him; she shouldn't be too upset, and she wasn't. In fact, she looked relieved.

"What Dr. House is delicately hinting at is that I'm bisexual. I'm taking this occasion to mention I am not the kind of person who easily tolerates homophobic jokes, and one of my reasons for choosing to work at PPTH is their internal regulations in this respect, with which I am thoroughly familiar. This includes you, Dr. House."

She took a big gulp of coffee.

"Of course I expect it may cause embarrassment at first. After all, I'm the first openly non-straight person to join this team."

House wondered whether there was any strange accent to the word openly. Wilson had come to see him during one of the interviews, and Hadley was smart. He smiled when he noticed how upset Chase suddenly seemed.

\------

"I've talked to the aliens again today. They're studying the possibility of impregnating humans with a broken spine."

"How would that be moral? They can't all have a best friend in chronic pain they're in love with."

Wilson's cheekbones turned slightly red. 

"House. I didn't do it for you, and you know it."

There was something House had promised to himself he would not ask Wilson even if they were together forever. Apparently forever was shorter than he had thought.

"Then why did you have me cut your spine? The aliens mentioned they could have done it themselves. I thought you wanted me to remember it was my fault."

"House, no!" Wilson looked horrified; he pulled House in a too tight embrace on the couch. "No! I would never do that!"

Now that he had started, he may as well say it all. Couldn't make things much worse, really.

"There's nothing to be upset about. It is my fault, really. How do you think I feel when I wake up in the morning? You loved me and I put you first through unbearable pain, then in a wheelchair for life. That you still love me is a major miracle, and I wouldn't be surprised if it doesn't last."

"No. It was my choice and you know it. The reason I discussed it with you is because my choice involved you, our life together, sexually and otherwise. If you would have left a sexless cripple, I wanted to know. I'm sure I would still have done what I felt was right, but I had to allow you to say your opinion." 

"I haven't changed my mind. It was your choice, period. No discussion about that. I may have tried to stop you if it had been a completely illogical choice, but it wasn't."

"No. It wasn't." 

Wilson paused, dried his eyes, and looked at House with so much love and trust that he felt his stomach knot.

"I also trust you much more as a doctor than I trust them, that's why I wanted you to do the surgery. I chose to have a disability, but I didn't want to die. You have nothing to feel guilty about."

They remained silent in each other's arms for a while, House with his head against Wilson's chest, listening to his lover's heartbeat, trying not to think of the risks he had taken which could have made that rhythm stop forever. 

"House?" the fingers that had been gliding through his hair and massaging his scalp stopped. "There's something we need to talk about. The aliens are going to give me more money, I've emailed you the amount. I don't think we need as much."

"We could always vacation somewhere really expensive. My favorite would be a trip to the International Space Station."

Wilson looked at him with surprise. "You—you would want that?"

House couldn't help laughing. 

"Of course not. That is, yes I would, but paraplegics and people with a history of infarctions are not allowed for medical reasons. So, it's your money, you decide."

The part about paraplegics was true, unfortunately. The infarction story he had just made up on the spur of the moment. In fact he would really have liked to go, not just to take the weight off his leg but to see Earth from space, but Wilson didn't need to know that.

"It's _our_ money, but there is something _I_ would like to do."

Wilson looked slightly pink, and was clearly excited. Whatever it was, House knew he wouldn't say no. 

"Tell me."

"I want to fund a Pain Management Department at PPTH. It could keep up-to-date with the best research worldwide and use it to provide protocols and medication everywhere. Third world countries and US residents without sufficient health insurance would be the main focus."

He looked insecure, and paused. 

"I could use half of what the aliens give me. Maybe sixty percent."

"You can use it all, you idiot. We earn enough together, and I'd be the last to oppose spending money on painkillers for those in need."

Happiness blossomed on Wilson's face. 

"House, I... I didn't know you would be so generous."

"It's your money, really. I married you for sex."

"If you still think the same in a week I'll go on with it. And, House?"

Wilson kissed him lightly on the lips, and looked at him from very, very near.

"Promise me you'll forgive yourself. It was my choice, from the beginning to the end, and if I could go back I would do it again. My only regret is the years of sex we didn't have, the two marriages I could have avoided."

House collapsed, held tight by Wilson's welcoming arms, and cried. Since the fateful day when he had cut Wilson's spine, no, since the damn pregnancy had started, he was no longer afraid or ashamed to cry. It was one of the changes he had discovered in himself; the House who flew to Mexico and the one that came back were almost as different emotionally as the two Wilsons were physically, except he had gained abilities, and Wilson had lost them. 

It took him a while to realize this time was different, and he was also crying with joy, because Wilson had said there was nothing to forgive. How long it would take him to fully forgive himself he didn't know, but with his lover's help he could try. It was only when he regained control, drying his eyes and sniffing, that he saw that Wilson had cried with him.


	19. Chapter 19

"I expect you didn't cook dinner today either, right?"

House had let himself in, and collapsed near Wilson on the couch. It was eight pm, and his patient was finally stable, but the last thirty-six hours had been hard on him and his wrinkles were deeper then usual. Wilson hoped for a quiet night with no beeper going off.

"No, but there are still leftovers of the stew you cooked two days ago. Do you want me to heat it up?"

He didn't wait for an answer, but pushed himself on the wheelchair and went to the fridge, then to the microwave oven.

"Sure," House answered while lifting his feet onto the coffee table, "and bring me a beer while you're at it."

Wilson smiled as he did what he was told; House was wonderful in being of help without making him feel more incompetent and helpless than was unavoidable. 

When he sat back down on the couch and drank a sip of his own beer, he expected House to switch on the TV; instead, his lover turned towards him and looked at him in a puzzled way.

"Is there a problem?" Wilson tried to think quickly, options passing in front of his mind's eye while House looked sadder every second. His patient? Cuddy? The team? What could have upset House so much?

"I heard about the pediatrics consult this morning."

"Yes." Wilson smiled at the recollection. "Dr. Plimsoll was right and it was cancer, but luckily a benign one. The little girl will be fine."

House's face became inexplicably darker. "Did Plimsoll need more consults over lunch?"

"No, she just wanted to thank me. She was kind, and even asked me whether she should come over sometime and make lunch for me. We discussed our favorite foods, apparently her grandma makes Latkes very much like my mother does, and..." Wilson lost his line of thought halfway through the sentence. "Oh. I see. House, don't tell me you are jealous?"

The blue eyes were steel colored, like the sky just before a thunderstorm. "Why shouldn't I be? She's young, probably fertile, and twenty years younger than I. You could finally have the children your parents have been pestering you about since you went to the prom. And she was flirting with you."

Wilson would have laughed at House's expression, which reminded him of the family dog the morning after he had been mistakenly locked out through a rainy night. But to House this was obviously no laughing matter, and he prefaced his speech with a long, tomato-and-wine sauce flavored kiss.

"She wasn't flirting, just being polite, but had she been I wouldn't have been interested. I am in a committed relationship."

House looked, if possible, even gloomier. "Has this ever stopped you? And what do you want with me anyway? I can't even properly take care of you physically."

Wilson kissed him again. "I want you because it's you I love, not Dr. Catherine Plimsoll. If I need someone young and strong to care for me I'll hire a nurse."

"She's cute, and she likes you." It sounded like an indictment.

"She's definitely cute, and she may like me, House, but I don't care about her. There's a big difference between now and when I was married: now I am in a relationship with a person I'm deeply in love with. Trust me, House, it's you that I want."

House looked at him with a face he usually reserved for surprises at the poker table. "If you're so sure, will you marry me? I did some online checks. We can drive to any place where it's legal and sign some sheets of paper."

There was defiance in his tone, as he dared Wilson to find an excuse. But all that Wilson said was "Fine. Check my schedule with Sandy, pick a date and a destination, and ask her to make the travel reservations. We can share the paperwork. I'll tell her and Cuddy what we're going to do, and you can tell your team. Feel free to tell them a few days ahead if you want them to squeeze some money out of the hospital's betting fans."

"It's… a yes?" House stammered. "No ifs, or buts, or maybe-laters?"

"No. It's been three months, and you're old enough to make your own decisions. I certainly can make mine, and I only wish we'd done this much earlier."

House looked embarrassed. "Uh. I didn't expect this, not so fast. Do you want an engagement ring? I never got married, you will have to tell me what to do."

Wilson couldn't help a touch of sadness from creeping into his dry laughter. "I'm not going to teach you anything, I was a terrible husband to three different women. All we need is a license, plus the courage to tell my parents. I'll need you to hold my hand, you know."

"Be careful if you wish for my company. If they say anything nasty I may end beating them up with my cane."

"So we're all set?"

"It appears."

"Good." Wilson relaxed on the couch, then he remembered something and smiled. "Could you go to the kitchen and bring me my cereal box? You know, the really healthy stuff."

House looked confused, but automatically did as he was told - he was used to Wilson asking him to be his legs and arms when he was too tired to climb on the wheelchair again.

"Here you are. Do you really need that healthy shit? Low fat, no sugar, all natural... the description alone makes me sick."

Wilson's fingers reached searchingly inside the box, and pulled out something small and dark and velvety, which he roughly cleaned on his trousers before handing it to House. "No, I just need this. Has been waiting here for a while, as I was sure this was the only way to keep it out of your sight. Here, it's for you."

House looked at the jeweler's box in his hands, then back at Wilson, with love and worry. "You... you have gotten me an engagement ring?"

"Not quite. Why don't you open the box?"

House did, revealing two very simple earrings, each consisting only of a small stone mounted on a minimalistic silver base. Or possibly white gold.

"Wilson, I... uh, I don't have pierced ears. Is this a leftover present from your last marriage?"

"No, it's not. Those sapphires are the same color as your eyes, not Julie's. And I can pierce your ears myself, it's easy and doesn't hurt. Pretend I'm a doctor, will you?"

House's cheeks had reddened. "I... uh... I've never worn jewelry, you know. Nor piercings. You sure it's a good idea?"

Wilson got one of the earrings, pulled it up near House's lobe, and smiled. "You'll be so handsome we'll have to tie Cameron up or she'll jump you at the ceremony. Maybe we'll have to do the same with Chase, now that I think of it." 

He laughed as House reddened further and stammered something about his team having no sexual interest in him. 

"The fact you are not interested in them doesn't mean I can't see the way they look at you. If your measure of beauty is attractiveness to the young, than you are definitely handsomer than I am. And if you don't mind I'd like to do the piercing now. I want to see you wear them when we make love next time."


End file.
